I’ve truly enjoyed delving into this book. My particular copy had an introduction penned by Miranda Syemour, yet I found myself at odds with her perspective.

I didn't quite believe that Martin, the central character, undergoes a transformation from having a hazy understanding of relationships to attaining complete lucidity by the conclusion of the book. There is, without a doubt, truth within this personal journey that becomes more externalized and certain in the pursuit that Martin undertakes towards the end of the story. However, my impression is that there is a *perceived* certainty, and this distinction makes all the difference.

This was my very first encounter with Murdoch's work, and I was immediately captivated by her writing style and her vivid descriptions of London's fog and the dreary weather that pervades the novel.

My overall impression is that *A Severed Head* is a tale that mocks psychoanalysis and ridicules the pursuit of the self's happiness, this idea of "do whatever makes you happy". I simply couldn't envision a different ending, which I interpreted as being more sarcastic than serious in tone.

It's a thought-provoking piece that leaves the reader pondering the nature of relationships, self-discovery, and the often illusory nature of certainty.

Murdoch's ability to craft such a complex and engaging story is truly remarkable, and I look forward to exploring more of her works in the future.

This catalogues a disintegrating 60s marriage. Martin is content with his wife Antonia and mistress Georgie. Antonia then departs from Martin to be with their friend and her psychoanalyst, Palmer, who has a sinister half-sister, Honor. It's all eerily amicable, rational, and analytical. Martin's siblings, Alexander (a sculptor) and Rosemary, also make appearances.

There are no likable characters. However, their thoughts and motives are mostly so vividly described (even if not necessarily believable) that it scarcely matters. In fact, it creates a more engaging dynamic of the reader's sympathy. They are all completely selfish, self-centered, hypocritical, and fickle. Their emotions swing from one extreme to another on a whim, and remorse is a scarcely known concept. Martin is (just) the main character: potent in the literal sense but emasculated in all other respects.

Antonia's beliefs "generate a rich centripetal eddy of emotion around her," and her Christmas decorations "combine a traditional gaiety with restrained felicity." In contrast, the repeated descriptions of the weather (mostly rain and fog) are rather trite. Also, some of the references to Honor's Jewishness are uncomfortable to read nowadays, although they likely would not have raised many eyebrows when the book was published.

Freudian and Oedipal analogies are plentiful, and it poses the question of which betrayal is the worst: that of a spouse, sibling, friend, or lover? More than once, it dismisses happiness as something unattainable or not worth aiming for, and love seems to rely on secrecy and be kindled by jealousy. In this perverse universe, betrayal leads to freedom!

Murdoch's novels frequently feature a Svengali-type figure, manipulating other characters. But in this book, there is more than one such character, which further complicates the story's threads – an apt analogy when all of the characters are connected to several others by multiple ties.

Iris Murdock's novels are not for the faint of heart. She populates her books with manipulative and incredibly selfish characters.

I am both fascinated and repulsed.

A Severed Head languished on my bookshelf for a long time before I picked it up. I think the ominous threat of the title and the publisher's description put me off a bit despite my respect for Murdock's work.

Once started, this brief book was hard to put down. I'd liken my reaction to Joseph Conrad's character in The Heart of Darkness who was drawn to "the fascination of the abomination."

After a series of nice but formulaic books, an Iris Murdock novel is like a dip in a frigid pool---chilling but ultimately refreshing. Her books are not for everyone because of the absence of humanity in so many characters. However, they always leave me with something, even if it is just the joy of my own normalcy compared to her tortured souls.

Her novels explore the complex and often dark side of human nature, delving into the motives and desires that drive people to act in ways that are both shocking and understandable. Through her vivid and often disturbing characters, Murdock forces us to confront our own fears and insecurities, and to question the values and beliefs that we hold dear.

Despite the discomfort that her novels can cause, I find myself drawn back to them again and again, eager to explore the strange and wonderful worlds that she creates. For me, an Iris Murdock novel is not just a book, but an experience---one that challenges me,启发 me, and leaves me with a deeper understanding of the human condition.

Rezension | Ein abgetrennter Kopf von Iris Murdoch Beschreibung

Martin loves his exquisitely beautiful wife above all and is overjoyed with their relationship. His happiness is made complete by the exciting time with his mistress. But when Martin is unexpectedly left by his wife, he begins to waver and he has to piece together his emotions bit by bit. And when yet another woman, Honor Klein, enters his life, chaos is pre-programmed.

Meine Meinung

Iris Murdoch's classic "A Severed Head" was first published in 1961. The Piper Verlag has now released the work with a new translation by Maria Hummitzsch. The book makes a high-quality first impression with its linen cover in the lovely light turquoise color and lies comfortably in the hand while reading. The cover image shows a rose framed by two samurai swords, which not only suits my personal taste but also fits very well with the content of the book.

The blurb promises a "...entertaining and hypnotic story about the metaphysics of love" and thus set high expectations for the reading in me alone.

What can I say? Iris Murdoch has prepared a wonderful emotional rollercoaster for me with her charming story about marriage, affairs, and love relationships in general. Joy and happiness dance with the reflection of a changed relationship constellation and conclude with the humorous absurdity of all those involved. In addition, Iris Murdoch has created characters with edges and corners with a sharp pen who polarize with their special yet bourgeois-like manner.

"A Severed Head" is an extremely successful social comedy in which the possible and impossible variants of love have their appearance. Above all, the main protagonist Martin, who would have been happiest to continue being happy with his wife Antonia and his mistress if the subsequent circumstances had not turned his love construct into a traveling chamber play.

For me, Iris Murdoch is a brilliant discovery of an author and "A Severed Head" is definitely not the last book I have read by her.

Fazit

A sophisticated game with emotions, lust, and love.

What an amazing book it is!

It is a unique combination of the comic and the tragic. In parts, it presents not just one but two of the most complicated love triangles that keep the readers on the edge of their seats. The story is filled with numerous twists and turns that make it impossible to put down.

Moreover, the author vividly描绘s the foggy London in winter, which adds a mysterious and gloomy atmosphere to the whole narrative. I truly enjoyed reading this book as it took me on an emotional rollercoaster ride. It made me laugh out loud at times and brought a tear to my eye at others. The complex characters and their intertwined relationships added depth and authenticity to the story. Overall, it is a remarkable piece of literature that I would highly recommend to anyone looking for an engaging and thought-provoking read.

A Severed Head is a remarkable novel that, despite its relatively short length of only 200 pages, manages to pack a powerful punch. It's difficult to envision the story being any longer without sacrificing its compactness and the intensity that comes with it. The taut prose and the palpable tension of the narrative are enhanced by the single narrative voice, as in Under the Net. Martin Lynch-Gibson's perspective is the only one we get, and this adds an intimacy to the book, allowing us to feel the full force of his rollercoaster emotions on every page.

Martin initially appears to have the best of both worlds, with a beautiful wife he loves and a young, independent mistress. However, after just two chapters, his life is turned upside down, and the story unfolds in an almost farcical manner, with the question of who is misleading whom being played with again and again. The relationships between the characters are complex and dysfunctional, with Antonia, Martin's wife, leaving him for her psychiatrist, Palmer, who is also a friend of Martin's. Antonia and Palmer infantilize Martin, treating him like a child, which he allows in his confusion and grief. They become surrogate parents, and there are numerous references to the parental nature of their relationship.

The book often feels like a play, with dramatic entrances, exits, and revelations. Martin makes multiple references to this, calling Antonia an actress and writing to Georgie about feeling like they were actors in a play. The characters' relationships are both literally and metaphorically incestuous, with partners shifting in waves as secrets are revealed. It's unclear what is real, what is love, and what is need. None of the characters are especially hateful or empathetic, and it's only Georgie who really engages the reader's sympathy.
Despite the lack of religious philosophy compared to The Bell, A Severed Head still contains some beautiful landscape writing, such as the descriptions of the snow at Rembers and the fog that is almost a character in itself. The peripheral characters, including the employees of the wine business and Martin's sister Rosemary, add depth to the story, but it's really about the six central characters and their relationships. Overall, A Severed Head is a masterpiece that showcases Iris Murdoch's writing prowess at its peak. It leaves the reader intrigued to see if any of her next twenty-one novels can rival this one as a favorite.

In this rather curious tale, a well-observed and comically sane love quadrangle (or perhaps it's a pentangle? Or even a parallelogram?) is suddenly invaded by a devious conqueror goddess named Honor Klein. Her desires are not quite what one would expect, or rather, they seem to be on a creepy, manipulative ticking grid.

Murdoch's internal depiction of male lust, considering the narrator is a dude, is mostly inaccurate. It's as if gender got scrubbed and reassigned at some point during the novel's preparation stages. Certainly, Honor Klein's character often verges upon the "masculine." There's one memorable scene where she's described as a general surveying a battlefield.

I should also mention that Murdoch's narrator goes to great lengths to point out the various "Jewish" traits in Honor. So perhaps we need to add some bizarro ethno-religious hobgoblins into this gender-mashup stew.

On balance, the story isn't as funny as I had hoped. And her frequent, detailed, plot-resonant weather descriptions seemed like creative-writing nonsense to me. However, Honor Klein is one of literature's most creepster-genius characters, and this is your only chance to meet and fear her.

**South Kensington Blues**

The cover of my edition is dreadful. There is a heart sewn with black thread on a white surface. I imagine it is meant to represent the love affairs told with English humor, which usually gives me the shivers, or rather a sensation like eating a bitter apple.

Dame Iris Murdoch is one of my favorite writers. Naturally, she is much more, being a moral philosopher (?). I can't imagine how the two roles can coexist, but since I don't love philosophy, I will never explore this aspect. The plot itself is not new. It tells the sentimental lives of six or seven very civilized and well-to-do adults in London in the 1950s, with a mix of irony, affection, and compassion.
The characters are former Oxford students, Cambridge professors, dealers in fine French wines, psychoanalysts, people of refined culture, with beautiful houses in the English countryside.
The author carefully sketches the characters, especially Antonia, the wife of the protagonist, a not very young, beautiful, theatrical woman, full of whims, but above all, desiring to control the life of her husband, even after leaving him for another.
The entertainment of the book lies in the accumulation of current and retrospective stories that border on the absurd, among compliments, inner dramas, French wines, exotic prints, sophisticated furnishings, and all kinds of refinements, and it manages to engage the reader until the last page. A bit like Rohmer, a bit of social satire.

3 1/2 stars

For a book like A Severed Head, which is written in such a calm and usually evenly measured way, it truly takes the biscuit when it comes to utter craziness. By the end of this wild ride, my jaw was constantly in a dropped open position, almost reaching my chest. My eyes were as wide as small cartwheels, and I had been reduced to a strange half choking/half laughing sort of snort.

I couldn't quite decide whether this book was dementedly brilliant or sublimely insane. So, I simply chose to enjoy the craziness that Iris Murdoch was making me witness and let those difficult questions fall by the wayside.

The smugly contented Martin Lynch-Gibbon made an immediate impression on me. Iris Murdoch sketched him so vividly. He was happily deceiving his wife with his luscious young mistress, quietly certain that it was his right as a dominant alpha male. He was just the sort of person I'd love to give a good smack around the ear-hole in real life.

Then, Mr. My Life Is So Perfect gets a rather big shock when his quiet little wifey announces that she's leaving him for her psychotherapist, Palmer. Incidentally, Palmer is not only his best friend but there seems to be a whole lot more going on. Iris Murdoch definitely throws in some homoerotic overtones in Martin's relationship with Palmer. So much for Martin's Perfect Little Life. But wait, because it gets even worse. Oh, so very much worse! In fact, I almost ended up feeling sorry for the chap as I came to realize that the whole 'alpha male' thing was just a pathetic screen for the true man inside.

A few more people are added to the mix, like Martin's brother and Palmer's half sister. They more than hold their own in this morally ambiguous stew pot. Martin, after being initially repelled, finally realizes that he is rather enraptured by Palmer's sister, Honor Klein - the woman of 'demonic splendour'. She's of German Jewish ancestry, and this leads to a few rather dubious mental comments from Martin, who seems to be a little bit racist. He comments more than once on things like 'her oily black hair' and similar. Hopefully, this is just a reflection of Martin's shortcomings and not Ms Murdoch's. But whatever he thinks, it doesn't stop him from adding Honor Klein to his already long list of problems, which includes (but is not limited to) a wife, a mistress, and an attractive best friend.

Seriously, if you're looking to read a story about a bunch of utterly despicable people who mostly thoroughly deserve each other, then look no further than this book!

I've never wanted to do an imaginary realistic head before.

He carefully moved the lamp, and the oblique light created dark lines between the strips of clay.

"Why don't modern sculptors do them?" I curiously asked.

"I don't know," replied Alexander. "We no longer believe in human nature in the old Greek way. There is nothing between schematized symbols and caricature. What I desire here is some sort of impossible liberation. Never mind. I shall continue to play with it and interrogate it, and perhaps it will reveal something to me."

"I envy you," I said. "You have a technique for uncovering more about what is real."

"So do you," said Alexander. "It is called morality."

Morality, in this context, seems to be a unique approach or lens through which one can explore and understand the real. Just as Alexander uses his sculpting techniques to interact with the clay and seek hidden meanings, perhaps we can use morality to navigate the complex web of human experiences and discover the true nature of things. It makes one wonder how morality can serve as a tool for uncovering the real in our daily lives, much like Alexander's pursuit in his art.

Maybe it's about making choices that are in line with our values and principles, and in doing so, we are able to see the world more clearly and understand the true essence of what is real.

Could it be that morality is the key to unlocking a deeper understanding of ourselves and the world around us, just as Alexander hopes his work will lead him to a greater understanding of the real through his sculpting?

These thoughts linger as we consider the connection between art, morality, and the search for the real.

**An Oh So English Tragedy... Not**

I have never encountered anyone of the sorts depicted in Murdoch's *The Severed Head*. I highly doubt anyone has. I can only trust that she赋予them some meaning. These are the independently wealthy landed gentry who can remain impeccably civil when their best friends elope with their wives. Martin, the husband in this case, can actually assert that “He’s still my best friend” about the American cad, Anderson. And Antonia, the loveless wife, without the slightest hint of embarrassment, can say to her soon-to-be ex “We won’t let go of you, Martin,... We’ll never let go of you.” But who are these people truly?

The stiff upper lip, psychological repression, emotional aridity - these seem like clichés of the English personality. Add to that things like pea-soup fog, late trains, and a vague derision of anything European as Jewish and downtrodden, and the question begins to take shape: Is good old Iris engaging in a send-up, employing that other cliché of English character, irony, to undermine her own narrative?
I live just two miles or so from one of Murdoch's fictional locations, ‘Rembers’, a house set on the edge of the Cotswolds in the actual stone village of Sibford Gower. It's less than 20 miles from Murdoch's Oxford college, and undoubtedly she was well-acquainted with the place. Yet she describes the house as being constructed of a timber frame with light pink infill panels, a sort of Elizabethan bordello. I don't claim to know every house in Sibford Gower, but I can state categorically that nothing like the Rembers she described exists there. Historically, timber-framed houses can't be found for miles into neighbouring Warwickshire; and modern planners would never have permitted such an atrocity in a village of honey-coloured stone. For me, this tips the intention of the book from polite irony to serious sarcasm.
A trivial observation? Perhaps, but Murdoch is never trivial with her details. In her literary philosophy, everything signifies. I think what Rembers signifies is the sincere falsity of the book. Even if there are characters like this in reality, they are misaligned. They belong more in the Mittel Europa of 1900 than the Middle England of 1976. In fact, I think they are Freudian ‘types’ - Oedipal, Electral, Narcissistic, etc. That is, Murdoch's characters are mythical figures enacting psycho-analytic roles. They are not parodies of Englishness but of psychological theory. And in good Murdochian style, they represent how psychological theory has invaded (infected?) our intelligence and conversation. There's just enough in psychological theory to be plausible but not nearly enough to account for the neuroses of those who formulated it or who currently practice it. Murdoch reveals her motive early on when she has Martin suggest about Anderson, the psychiatrist, that “Anyone who is good at setting people free is also good at enslaving them, if we are to believe Plato.” He also criticises the philosophical foundation of psycho-analysis as “a metaphysic of the drawing-room.” The imaginary head cannot be severed from the reality of the body to which it is attached without severe distortion, not to mention disfigurement. In short, psychoanalysis is simply ill-conceived philosophy of mind and should be treated with the disrespect it merits. Another indication of her misdirecting hints is her aside that Rembers overlooks the River Stour. It can't, because Sibford Gower is on the River Sib, a tributary of the Stour. She leads with misdirection.

This is my first encounter with a book by Iris Murdoch.

The writing style is truly remarkable. It is smart, precise, and has the ability to vividly evoke images in the reader's mind.

What makes the story even more engaging is the element of suspense and tension that Murdoch manages to infuse throughout. This is achieved simply by having her characters make decisions and progress through a day.

My overall impression of this book is that it offers an upscale, posh, dignified, and polished perspective on the so-called "hippy dippy" times of "free love" and the idea of freely moving from one love to another as the moment arises.

It's like a sophisticated game of bed hopping.

The main protagonist, Martin, struggles with knowing what or who he wants in life and has significant commitment issues.

Throughout the book, he is forced to come to terms with some difficult situations, which in turn requires him to face his commitment problems.

He resists this process, kicking and screaming along the way.

None of the characters in this book are particularly likeable. Palmer, for example, is exceptionally pompous and arrogant.

All in all, this is an interesting and suspenseful story that has both fun and disagreeable moments.

It truly reminds me of an upscale, posh Love-In.